Today's The Day
by Terias Mcklay
Summary: Her fiance is dead, if his body had held out a little longer, she'd be a widow. Instead, she's this...mess, half of a whole. And Shay just won't let her drown. Shafferty.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

Her fiance is dead.

The sentence disquiets her as she stares in to the depths of her beer, a miniature whirlpool of liquid amber created as she tips the heavy pint glass this way and that. She's not comfortable saying he's dead, not even in her own mind.

If his body had held out just a little longer, she would be a widow. Instead she's just this... mess, half of whole, trudging through the day to day, each patient a familiar face. She's played this game by herself for the past few months, poking at her memories, picking at the scab of them before tucking them away where no one else can see. Now, she's branched out, leaving the safety of an apartment ensconced in darkness to inflicting her misery on the population at large by drinking in bars.

Molly's to be exact.

Of all the asinine places for her to sit and brood, she had come to this one. To be fair, it hadn't been totally her choice. Three weeks into her 12 week suspension, she had been quite content to sit and stare at her walls or -when she was feeling particularly adventurous- glare murderously at happy couples while she sat in a diner down the street.

It was Shay's fault. The blonde had all but beaten down her door, unwilling to accept clipped text messages that were meant to both reassure her partner that she was fine and a not so subtle attempt to get her to back the hell off.

Shay was nothing if not dogged, no doubt likening Rafferty to her own experience with the clinging black fog that was depression. That had been a surprise, the sarcastic armour of her blonde partner seemed almost impenetrable. The ever helpful rumour mill had filled in the blanks, Shay being all but abandoned by her best friend when she needed her most. Getting that little gem hadn't taken much, a throwaway comment about Dawson to Severide had him relaying tidbits of the story, the rest of it pieced together from the others.

Rafferty wasn't sure why she cared enough to bother fitting the puzzle into its proper place. Maybe it had initially been a desire to have one up on Shay but that had faded quickly. Now it was more about understanding, and working harder not to spit venom at the other woman when she tried to help. Sarcasm and ball busting were still fair game but it had been weeks since she had taken a serious verbal swing at Shay.

Her gaze slid over the crowd to the blonde in question, standing behind the bar cleaning glassware, her attention split between her task and a woman Rafferty assumed was Shay's flavour of the week. If nothing else had made it past the rumour mill she still would have known of Shay and Severide's legendary conquests, the pair running through Chicago women at a break neck pace.

It didn't bother her. She wasn't homophobic, not really. She had aspirations of being a doctor, immersing herself in science. Rafferty had no particular dogma to cling to that would breed intolerance toward anything but stupidity and incompetence, Shay harboured the characteristics of neither.

Even her previous partner hadn't been an issue until all the ridiculously lovey and overly sexual conversations while Rafferty sat in the rig, unable to escape. The woman insisted on throwing feelings in her face when all Rafferty wanted was to put her head down and wait for the worst of her grief to blow over.

The homophobia schtick had been an easy enough trick to back Shay off, keep a proper distance between them, competent at work without having to delve into tragic pasts. It wasn't as if Shay had a dead fiance behind her -at least not to her knowledge- but scuttlebutt said she had a less than stellar track record with women. And then there had been the man who shot himself.

They all had their own crosses to bear.

The lack of beer as Rasfferty attempts to take a sip brings her back to herself, she's on empty. It's the perfect time to bow out, she's had her requisite drinks, shown up so Shay knows she hasn't dropped dead in her apartment, now she can wallow in peace.

She looks across to signal her impending exit to Shay, eyebrow raised to see the blonde leaning halfway over the counter to talk to her friend. The new woman must speaking just a little too low, forcing Shay to lean in that much closer to hear. It was a blatant flaunting of her ability to capture the blonde paramedic's attention. Rafferty rolls her eyes at the play, Shay should know better than to fall for such cheap tricks.

"It's not like they're making out, ease up on the death glare," Severide leads with, sliding his body into the booth seat in front of her.

"I... what?" Her attention is on him now, hoping for an explanation.

"You, hate staring holes into the back of that chick's head. I get that you're not all, into ladies liking ladies and what not but they're not doing anything wrong."

She pursed her lips, tempted to overthrow his theory about her but chooses against it, shrugging as she twirls her pint glass on the dented wood table. "It's her bar."

"Yeah, it is, and her life. You can disagree all you want but..."

"Shay's the golden girl who can do no wrong, I get it." Rafferty holds up a hand to stop the impending lecture about the brotherhood of 51. They closed ranks around their own and taking shots at Shay or Dawson was tantamount to treason. That had never been her, not in high school or university, or med school where everyone spent as much time sabotaging their peers as they did focusing on their own studies. She had been on her own for most of her life. She wonders what it feels like, to be one of these people able to poke a bear because you knew an army would be at your back. "I really have nothing against her personally." She didn't want him to think her a total waste of humanity. "She can do whatever or whomever she likes, I just don't want it..."

"Shoved in your face, yeah, I got it." The look of muted disgust as he speaks means he doesn't, in fact, understand. Rafferty rolls her eyes, it's not that she doesn't want two women shoved in her face, she doesn't want _anyone _shoved in her face, period. Doesn't want to be exposed to second hand feelings, afraid they may catch.

She isn't stupid, eventually the tragedy of her fiance's death will lessen. Some time in the unforeseen future, she might want something with someone, somewhere.

But today is not that day.

"Hey, get you guys anything?" Shay asks, appearing at her elbow and motioning to the empty glass. "Rafferty, refill?"

"Alliteration, I'm impressed," she tips the pint glass at the blonde in a loose salute.

"I'm impressed you know that word, that's..." Shay took a moment, contemplating, "three more syllables than I thought you could handle."

"Ass."

"Yeah, that's more along the line of what I expect from you. What's the matter, they don't teach you insults in breeder college?"

"I'm going to head over there before blood is drawn," Severide stands, motioning over to the rest of the Squad tucked in a corner near the jukebox. "Call me if you need back up."

"Coward," Rafferty calls out, nodding at Shay when the woman motions to take his place. "Busy here tonight."

"It's picking up, it definitely helps that we're the only game in the neighbourhood. Never thought I'd thank the mob for something but..."

"Gift horses and all that."

"Got that right. So, enjoying your time away from your couch?"

"Hey, my couch misses me. I'm pretty sure it texted me to come home."

"Well, how about blowing off it, and your throw pillows, and heading back to my place after we close up here?"

"I know I asked you about lesbian night but if you're thinking of trying to convert me, ain't we moving a little fast? Don't we listen to Melissa Etheridge first?"

"I already got you drunk. You're what? A three drink lesbian, max."

"You'd better break out better than that tap water you call beer if that's what you think."

"Scotch it is. And we're playing poker, I hope you brought your wallet," Shay calls over her shoulder as she heads to the bar for a refill. She follows the woman with her eyes, frown fixed in place when Shay leans over to talk to the platinum blonde at the bar. She isn't, repeat, is not, going over to Shay's place to watch those two suck face all night.

She searches her mind for a decent reason to beg off, other than what she deems as a perfectly fine answer, she simply doesn't want to go. Shay won't let her off the hook that easily. She would spend the rest of the night answering so many drunken texts she would end up with less sleep than if she acquiesced. That's how it had gone down last week.

Shay was quick to return, two tumblers of amber liquid in one hand and a fresh pint of beer in the other.

She slid the beer and a glass of scotch over the table, taking a pull at her own drink.

"So, is De Jour coming over for poker as well?" Rafferty asked, inclining her head toward the bar.

"De Jour?" Shay follows her gaze, landing on the annoyingly pert blonde who waved coyly at them. She doesn't bother with anything resembling a smile in response before turning back to Shay whose grin borders on 'shit eating'.

"Her name is Brittany."

She can't help the gagging sound that overtakes her at such a vomit inducing, cheery name, accepting the snap of the bar towel as her punishment.

"She's very..."

"Clingy? Obvious? Over the top?" she supplied for Shay.

"Friendly, was the word I was going for, you know, the opposite of you."

"The opposite of me is boring, stupid and unawesome."

"There, there, dear," Shay patted her hand, "I'll still love you, even when I'm seeing other people."

Shrugging off the hand, she raised the glass and took a deep pull at the scotch, the burn sliding down her throat.

"And no, despite how much I enjoy watching you squirm, Brittany's not actually my type."

"What? Breathing?"

"I'll have you know, I have standards."

Rafferty's raised eyebrow calls bullshit.

"Low standards given recent history," Shay admits, "but standards none the less. Judging by her tan line, she's not exactly available." Shay tapped her ring finger to be sure Rafferty's got the drift. "But what's the harm in a little shameless flirting?" Shay's attention turned to the bar, Dawson flagging her down to help wade through a sudden influx of customers. The blonde stood, sliding her glass over the table to be finished. "Poker, in or out?"

Rafferty looks around the bustling bar, surprisingly comfortable ensconced in the lair of 51. The majority of that comfort rests on the shoulders of the woman in front of her, Shay's dogged, relentless insistence of caring had kept her afloat these past few months. She throws back the last of her scotch, a determined nod settling the internal debate.

"In."

...


	2. Chapter 2

*Author's Note. I've been bouncing back and forth while editing the tense in this chapter and likely pooched it royally. Apologies and fair warning.

**Chapter 2**

"Out."

"C'mon, Rafferty, ante up!"

"Nope," she draws out the word, at odds with tossing an extra set of bills into the pot. "I anted."

"Not with cash," Shay protests, meeting her raise. "How bad could it be? You can't one up Severide's. Chrissakes there was a hamster involved." Shay stares her down as if that's reason enough to come clean. Admittedly, the hamster story would be one to beat. "C'mon, we all shared our worst dating stories."

"I know, which is why you lose," she retorts, popping the lollipop back in her mouth and grinning around the stick as she motions for Otis to put up or shut up. The man grudgingly tosses his cards down, folding the hand. "Wuss."

"I'm out," Cruz threw his hand down, followed by Severide and Clarke. Her attention turned to Shay - the only one left- staring the blonde down. She didn't have a stellar hand, it wouldn't take much to beat her but damned if she was the type to fold now. Shay folds with a grunt and she flips up her hand, grinning as her two kings and two tens win her the pot.

"You bluffed your way through with two pairs?!" Shay's incredulous yell echoes through the small living room.

"Three actually," Rafferty corrects. "You're not counting the pair I brought into the game, 'cause that's what it takes to bluff on that, baby."

"I totally could have taken you," Shay flips up her own hand, two pairs, aces high.

"I know, sadly, again, you lose." Rafferty cleans the table, divesting the boys of most of their cash and Shay of all of hers.

"I'm out," Cruz says, pushing his way from the table.

"Yeah, I still have to buy groceries this week." Otis pushes away from the table as well, taking his meagre pile of bills -certainly less than he started with- and tucking them into his pocket. Shay's ready for another round, reaching over to Severide's pile and taking out enough to play in.

"You ain't lost enough of your own money yet, 'cause I'm glad to take the rest of it." Rafferty's words are more tease than actual bluster as Severide deals out the hand. He's pleased with his cards, as is Clarke. Of them all, Clarke is the hardest to read, no doubt from his training in the Forces. Shay is the easiest, the pursed lips and slight wriggle in her seat the blonde's subtle bracing for what looks to be a bad hand.

Like candy from a baby.

The hand plays itself out and both Shay and Severide are now moneyless, Clarke tipping his beer at her as she cleans the bills. That's rent for the month.

"You're not allowed to come to poker night anymore," Shay says before draining the last of her beer in a quick shot. She stands, tipping her beer at the group in an unspoken question of who wants another round. Otis and Cruz, in conversation over some new geek thing, hold their beers up in acceptance, Clarke and Severide as well. Raffery trails behind her to grab her own beer, eyebrow raised at Shay's questioning look.

"What, you come here to pout 'cause I just whupped your ass?"

"No, just to contemplate how a supposedly straight girl is better than a big ol' lesbo at poker. Years of hiding finally come in handy with your poker face?" Shay holds up a bottle of whiskey, pouring two shots at Rafferty's nod of acceptance. This verbal kumite is the highlight of her days now, brain finally put to good use rather than swirling in an endless loop of the past year of her life. It breaks her out of the monotony, focuses her on the now and she finds herself once again thankful for the force of nature that is the woman in front of her.

The tip of her glass is her silent salute to the blonde, a friend she had no business having, her first words making her unworthy of Shay's quiet loyalty.

"Speaking of lesbians," Shay opens with, a perfect set-up for their endless fisticuffs.

"I ain't coming to your dyke night. There's only so many conversations about cats and U-hauls that a woman can take."

"I could make a crass remark about pussy but I think it'd be so obvious at this point it'd lose some of the sting." Shay uncaps the rest of the beers, holding out three for Rafferty to take. "I was just going to say I ran into your old partner from 27 at the hospital today."

Rafferty's response is a noncommittal grunt that she hopes can be taken more as concentration at her precariously balanced beer bottles than discomfort over the subject.

"She's, uh, friendly."

Friendly? Was that the word for it?

"Okay, I think handsy is probably better," Shay admits, forcing Rafferty to double take, unaware she had spoken her sarcastic question aloud. "Anyway, what I'm saying is, I get it, you know, the whole thing in the beginning with us. I'd have been put out too if someone had gotten all up in my grill two seconds in."

"It wasn't about you." An admission long overdue, especially given their growing friendship. She turns, hoping Shay can read the sincerity in her statement. Rafferty wishes she could turn back, shake her older self, slap her if need be, anything to take away the self doubt she can hear creeping into the voice of someone who has been her most stalwart supporter.

"I know." Shay goes so far as to tuck the group of beers against her body, just to be able to have a free hand to squeeze her arm. It's testament to how far they've come that such casual contact is not only accepted but missed on the rare occasions that the ever affectionate Shay doesn't offer it. It's been months since anyone but the blonde has been brave enough to touch her.

The moment is over as quick as it comes, the boys' grousing for beer leading to an argument about women and kitchens and just where anyone with an XY chromosome combo could shove their beer bottles.

It's late when the night is called to an end, Otis in bed and Cruz long passed out on the couch, Clarke making quiet conversation with Shay as she leads him to the door. Severide looks up from where he is washing the dishes -Shay has him well trained despite his earlier comments- and he gives her a rare smile. Given that Shay is still occupied, she sidles up to him, picking up a drying towel to complement his washing.

"It's a front, isn't it?"

She doesn't look up from her task, inspecting a pint glass with far more intensity than it warrants. "What is?"

"All of it. The digs at Shay, that aloofness you carry around, you're hurting and you're hiding it."

She doesn't respond, anything said to the contrary would be a lie.

"Whatever's eating at you, you've got to let it out to someone. Shay held onto it for so long, I almost lost her." The sorrow in his eyes is too intense to be false, the memories of Shay circling the drain no doubt a painful time.

He's deeper than Rafferty thought. She never doubted he was good at his job, you don't make Lieutenant of a Rescue Squad without some brains and cojones. She had just never figured him for being emotionally astute. Though, she supposed, that was more her fault than his. In the rare times Shay talked about the aftermath of the man's suicide, she spoke of Severide's increasingly desperate attempts to pull her from the brink. She frowns at that thought, an unbidden wave of anger rising at Dawson for neglecting her friend. Shay wore her heart on her sleeve, if Dawson had missed the signs, it was because she had been wilfully ignorant of Shay's suffering.

"She's a good person to talk to."

"Huh?"

"Leslie, she doesn't try to back you in a corner with your words. And despite what she may say otherwise, she's good at keeping secrets."

She turns to him, a silent search for ulterior motives and, finding none, nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

Glasses done and nothing further to occupy her hands, she makes her way over to the dining room table, sliding her jacket off her chair. Shay's back, frown in place as she converses with someone on the phone.

"Cab company say it'll be an hour." A right, her taxi.

An hour?

It'd take less time to walk and Rafferty says as much, continuing to pull on her coat, surprised when a firm hand tugs it from her shoulders.

"No way, not in this weather and not at this time of night." Severide shakes his head, draping her jacket over his arm. "You can crash here." She wants to argue but the look in his eyes tells her it's a lost cause. She doesn't blame him, his sister was grabbed on a night like tonight and to hear Shay speak of it, he doesn't even let her go out by herself to take out the garbage once night has fallen.

"And where am I going to crash?" Her pointed look goes to the couch where Cruz has splayed his body.

"If you promise not to hit on me, you can share my room." Shay says, taking the stairs slowly, not quite steady on her feet after a long night of drinking. Severide has already hung up her coat, double checking the locks on the door.

It's instinct to bristle at the idea of being told what to do, it takes a moment for her to remember this isn't a fight, she's not losing by accepting. If she were to be totally honest with herself, it feels good there are people who care enough about her safety to protect her from her own pig headedness.

By the time she makes her way into Shay's room, herself a little unsteady and grateful for Severide's hand on her back as she navigated the stairs, the other woman is in the bathroom, an extra set of pyjamas laid out on the bed.

Shay pokes her head out, toothbrush in her mouth as she pulled her hair up, clad in a worn baseball t-shirt and shorts so threadbare they barely warrant the name.

"'Imme oo scheconds." Minty foam escapes the corners of Shay's mouth as she speaks. With that Shay ducks back into the washroom, leaving Rafferty to change. She does so gratefully, more than ready to slip out of too tight jeans and thick sweater. The pyjamas are worn but comfortable, exactly what she would think of the blonde wearing, were she to have given it any thought. They smell vaguely of Shay, an unexpected bonus as she tugs the shirt over her shoulders. It fit more snugly around the chest than she figures it would on Shay, stretching worn cotton to dangerous proportions.

"Oh, uh, sorry, that's a little, small for you. I can grab one of Kelly's shirts." Shay's returning from the bathroom smelling of mint and cream.

"It's fine." She stops the blonde from walking over to Severide's room with a light hand, unwilling to say it's comforting to wear something of hers. Something that reminds her of the blonde holding tight, as if the world's problems could be solved by her hugs. Sometimes, when Shay holds tight, she almost thinks that's the case, she's untouchable and intact once more. That thought is too intense, too fraught with feelings she doesn't understand, to deal with now. It's time for retreat. "Got any spare toothbrushes?"

"Yeah, bottom drawer."

"And you better have changed your sheets from your last lady lover!" She calls out over her shoulder for good measure, Shay's answering chuckle bringing them back to level ground.

Sliding into bed is surprisingly easy, it's the first time she's slept with someone since he died. Sleep is too close, too intimate to share with strangers. But Shay isn't a stranger and the blonde, ever accommodating, has slid far to her end of the bed, wrapped in a cocoon of duvet. The duvet is oversized enough that Rafferty has no trouble covering herself, the deliciously soft sheets a stark contrast to those in her own apartment.

"You're going to fall outta the bed you move over any further." Shay's turned off the light and somehow tucked impossibly further into herself.

"Wouldn't want you to get any ideas." Shay answers. "I know how long you've been waiting to jump into bed with me." It's a joke but the reluctance to push boundaries is evident.

"Ha. Ha." She moves over anyway, as much to prove to herself as Shay that she can do this. Share a bed with someone, even a friend. That she's not some unsaveable homophobe who lashes out at anyone in range. That she's not destined to forever sleep alone.

"Stop thinking so hard, Rafferty, you'll wrinkle."

She turns at the light tease to find Shay looking over her shoulder in the semi darkness, the street light outside illuminating her form. "I'm not."

"Uh huh. Do you want me to sleep on the floor? Or I can go kick Cruz off the couch?"

"No, I'm good." The slight hint of worry in Shay's voice tells her this isn't the time to make a wise ass comeback. She reaches out, across the suddenly vast expanse of the bed, to put a hand on Shay's shoulder. "For real."

A nod is her friend's acceptance before she turned over, settling in to sleep.

It's not the best night's sleep she's ever had. Shay's a kicker, a thrasher really, and two feet between them isn't enough to control the flails from what Rafferty can only assume are nightmares. It's hours in when she's had enough, the remnants of liquid courage running through her veins as she slides over to wrap an arm around her friend, quieting the violent moves.

The sudden calm in the bed is near instantaneous, her hand suddenly help by captive by Shay's, the woman hanging on for dear life, even in sleep.

It should be uncomfortable, this sudden closeness, she hadn't meant to end up plastered against her friend's back. But Shay's grip won't relax and she doesn't have the heart to wake her. Like the easy way Shay's clothes fit over her body, it feels natural as could be to lie next to her and that's the thought that disquiets her. She pushes the thought away, setting it adrift on the dark ocean of her slowly fading consciousness. Shay's had her back for months, the least she can do is offer her a good night's sleep.

The beat of Shay's heart, steady and strong, lulls her back to sleep, content for the first time in months.

Waking is less awkward than she thought it might be, her move to claim her hand from Shay rouses the blonde who releases her easily. There's a brief flicker of panic in the blonde's eyes and in a pre-emptive strike against whatever awkward moment was coming, she squeezes Shay's shoulder. Wordlessly, she rolls to her side and throws her legs over the edge, stretching arms overhead as the weak morning sun pours in from the window.

"Coffee?" Is Shay's first word, the reflection in the window showing she is already up and on the move.

"Aspirin?"

"God yes, that too."

Breakfast, such as it is with dry toast and hot coffee, is a quiet affair, save for the snore of Cruz on the couch. Severide walks her to the door when it's over, Shay clanging around in the kitchen for something.

"Don't be a stranger, all right?" His face is earnest and open and she can see why women are drawn to him.

"I won't."

His hug is unexpected but not unpleasant. Even in the throes of a well earned hangover, Severide smells of coffee, soap and deodorant.

"All right, all right, break up the love fest." Shay's voice ends the pseudo moment, Severide releasing her with a pat on the back before disappearing into the house. "Here." Shay holds out a travel mug, the steam visibly rising in billowy wisps in the late December morning. "Since you insist on walking."

"Thanks." It's thoughtful, a word she has no choice but to associate with her friend.

"What're you up to for Christmas?"

"Not sure yet, might head out to my folks. You?"

"Kelly and I throw an orphan Christmas dinner for the house, last year even the Chief came out."

That sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than her plan to hibernate until after the new year. She wants to ask if there's room for one more orphan. Chances are slim Shay would say 'no', but it's the asking of the question that would expose her and she's not ready for that yet. There'll be a time, she can sense it, when she'll be able to ask for what she wants, when Shay's constant attempts to tend to her will finally break down the walls she's erected. When the sting of just...feeling, will die down. Eventually, she'll be able to accept these people as family, but today is not that day.

"Well, enjoy," is what comes out of her mouth instead, raising the coffee in thanks. "I'll see ya, try and stay outta trouble."

She's halfway down the walk when Shay's voice calls out to her. "Hey, Rafferty, if your plans fall through or whatever, your ass better be here. You don't get to have Christmas alone when you're at 51. Got me?"

She can't help the smile, Shay knows her, sometimes better than she seems to know herself. "Yeah, I got ya." Her pull to this woman is something deep down and, for once, she chooses not to fight the instinct that sends her up the sidewalk to wrap Shay in a tight hug. Lean arms welcome her, gentle hands rubbing circles on her back, a quiet comfort. "Thanks, Leslie."

"I got your back, Raff." The words are soft, spoken into her ear as she leans into her friend's shoulder. The nickname feels closer than her given one, bestowed only occasionally when Shay seems to know she's feeling fragile.

It was instinctive, her kiss on Shay's cheek, a wordless thanks, downy skin cool under her lips. It's all the emotion she can take for the moment, giving a brief squeeze to Shay's arms and taking her leave, unaware of sapphire eyes tracking her down the street.

...

**Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated. If you take the time to read, please take a minute to review.**


	3. Chapter 3

A.N.: Sorry for the obscene delay! Had some serious formatting issues the first time loading this, hopefully they're sorted. Many thanks to all those who reviewed, you make my day!

**Chapter 3**

_'Good luck today!'_

She smiles at the text message, ignoring the way her day turns around whenever Shay's involved. She hadn't been nervous about her first day back, per se, more cautious that the slightest infraction could see the door hitting her on the ass on her way out. Permanently.

Rumour is the Chief of 27 division is a hard ass stickler for protocol, not exactly the best place she could have landed. Unfortunately, 51 is full up, at least until Dawson gets her shit together and sorts out her fire academy test.

The somewhat curious but mostly disinterested stares as the battalion chief introduces her do little to warm her to the house. The boys at 51 were annoyingly endearing right off the hop but she knew chances were slim lightning would strike twice in that regard. There are enough stories about female first responders being run out of their houses that Rafferty appreciates any greeting that isn't balls out hostile.

The first shift is pure boredom, bouts of paperwork to complete her transfer interspersed with calls boring enough they barely warrant the drive over. There isn't even any drama at the house, 27 division isn't more than a knockabout unit. A one truck, one Ambo house that only survived the slash and dash tactics of the state because of mandated maximum response times.

Shay texts her again at the end of shift to check in though Rafferty's not sure why. They all have the same chatter on radio -no one sneezes without the entire damn division catching cold- and neither of them had anything more exciting than chest pains that turned out to be heartburn.

Still, it's nice to have someone checking up on her. Shay's been that way since Rafferty showed up to Christmas, rarely going a day without sending at least a brief ball bust or pictures of random SUVs that she sees on shift.

She's hard pressed to think why she misses the blonde's snark in person, foregoing her usual over analysis of every situation to instead type out a quick request. "_Breakfast?"_

_"You're on."_

~888~

It's not the classiest greasy spoon she's ever been in. The wood panel walls are warped and cracked, the diner counter pitted, scratched and stained from what she's sure were years of smoking. The stale smell of smoke still lingers in the air despite it being years since smoking has been allowed in restaurants. Shay's got a soft spot for the place, and Rafferty -decor aside- can see why.

The cook raises a spatula in greeting as they seat themselves, a waitress who looks as well worn as the establishment ambles up to them with pad and pen in hand. Her eyes are friendly, focusing on Shay as she pats her shoulder in a gesture that borders on motherly before turning her gaze Rafferty's way.

"Your usual, Sweetheart?"

"And the same for my friend," Shay answers and Rafferty's grateful for it. There's no real menu to speak of, save for a washed out chalkboard with the daily on it and she's doesn't feel like asking the woman to recite the options to her. "How's things, Marge? Get all sorted after the blackout?"

"Oh yes, Mac had them replace all the windows the next day."

Ah, that explains the two fresh glass panes, mismatched against what Rafferty assumes are the original yellowed windows.

"Let me just get these orders in and I'll bring you girls some fresh coffee."

"Thanks, Marge."

The seat is hard and a little unsteady, she's certain at least one of the legs could use some tightening. Shay's uncaring, sprawling in her seat with a loud yawn. This place matches the blonde perfectly, comfortable and unpretentious, an inherent warmth and quiet. Aside from themselves, only four other people have committed to eating, a quartet of seniors in jogging suits that Rafferty presumes have just finished their morning constitutional.

The lone occupant at the counter is a gentlemen younger than themselves, plowing through the morning paper, a cup of coffee at his side. It's the perfect, quiet place to decompress from shift. Even without any serious incidents, being on call for 24 hours straight is stressful, never knowing if the moment you choose to eat, shower or sleep is the moment the city goes batshit crazy. The job is a long game of hurry up and wait, and Rafferty's not quite convinced her brain into getting back into the swing of things.

"So, couple of days ago, Dawson and I had the pleasure of dealing with a guy who superglued..." Shay paused, searching for the proper wording, "himself, to his blow up doll."

Her freshly poured coffee, black and steaming, is nearly sprayed across the table at the story. "Come again?"

"That's what she said!"

The bout of laughter they descend into is only possible because of a certain silliness that sets in after exhaustion and stress, Marge giving them an amused side eye as they try to get themselves under control.

"Dare I ask how that happens?" She asks when her breathing is finally under control, her gaze turned up to her friend whose blue eyes twinkle at the memory.

"Apparently his 'girlfriend' sprung a leak and he used the glue to patch her up. I guess he was in such a hurry he didn't wait until it dried."

"That's a new kind of special."

"Right? He managed to get himself... Out of it, but he took off a good layer of skin, passed out and smoked his head off the table. His mailman called it in when she saw him on the ground."

"This is why women live longer, you don't hear about some chick who's got her cooch glued to something."

"Well, that's not totally true," Shay offered, as she dug into her newly arrived short stack, layering her pancakes with bacon and syrup before shoving the entire concoction into her mouth. "This one time..."

Breakfast is the best time she's had in awhile, the blonde's company never failing to pull her out of whatever tailspin she finds herself in. It's been awhile since they've been able to meet up in person, Rafferty's been near incommunicado as she took proficiency courses to ready herself for being back on the job. The last thing she wanted to do, fresh off suspension, was end up killing someone on a call.

"It's on me," Shay says as she pulls the bill out of Marge's hand. "Celebrate you back on the job." Rafferty tries to protest but Shay's already sent the bill on its way.

"Buying me breakfast? You hopin' to get laid?"

"If all it takes is a five dollar meal and a free cup of coffee, I'm not sure you're someone I'd want to hop in the sack with."

"Too expensive for your tastes?" This verbal kumite is, as always, the height of her day. Shay's only know her as this, the acerbic, sarcastic, occasional bitch, not the broken almost widow. She doesn't look at her with pity, the way her friends do, or with the always subtle -but not- advice that it's time to move on, like her parents. She can just be Alison, a paramedic with more attitude than sense who may or may not be drifting toward crushing on her new best friend.

"Molly's tonight?"

"Can't. I'm taking an extra shift at 27." The paramedic for third watch had called in with the flu and as low man on the totem pole, she hadn't been keen to refuse the offer of the shift. It will mean working a double, tomorrow plus her own shift the next day, but it's not a terrible idea for her to try and replenish the savings she burned through while on unpaid leave.

"C'mon, one drink, I'll send you home by ten. Keep me company while I ply people with liquor."

"By nine and you're buying."

"Deal."

~888~

Rafferty's in the bar by six, her walls closing in quickly as she attempted to simply occupy space without going gang busters to keep herself busy. It's a game she plays with herself, waging silent war against her loneliness, see how long she can last without chores or errands to occupy her mind. It's only two real hours that she makes it through, if you don't count the endless tossing and turning that was her attempt at sleep.

More than once her thoughts had strayed to the semi comfortable but mostly restful night she had spent in Shay's bed, sucked up against the blonde's body. She budgeted herself fifteen minutes of going back and forth with that memory before she forced herself out of bed to self medicate with an over zealous shot of whiskey.

That had gotten her another two hours before Rafferty had given up the ghost of anything resembling proper sleep. She'll try again after the bar, she might break her own rule and take a couple of extra shots, just to be sure.

She barely had the door to Molly's open before Shay's raises her bar towel in greeting, a wide smile in place that Rafferty pretends for a moment is just for her. That someone is just that happy to see her. No one comes in behind her to spoil that thought and she takes it with her as she sidles up to bar, claiming what has become her stool.

"You came, I thought you were going to punk out."

"Thanks for the faith." Shay pours a generous glass of whiskey in apology, pulling the money for it from her own tip jar. Rafferty wants to protest but it's been so long since anyone's done anything vaguely chivalrous for her that she revels in it instead.

"So, now that I've bought your attentions, thrill me. What did you get up to today?"

"Just some house cleaning, bills, that kind of stuff."

"I said thrill me, not bore me with everyday life." "What's happening in the Shayveride household that's so amazing?"

"Nothing, that's why I'm asking you."

"Come on, no tales of salacious sex?"

"One, since breakfast? No. Two, I know you're just trying to figure out if there's any competition for you so if you want, you just go ahead and ask me out." She wonders what would happen if she actually called Shay's bluff. Would the woman think she was crazy or malicious? Trying to set her up? Blow her off? Laugh it off? Rafferty isn't sure what scenario sucks more and after a somewhat emotionally fragile day, she's not up to hearing any of it. "Nah, I just saw this chick working the corner and figured if you're hard up I'd tip you well and drop you off."

"Aww, too bad you're too cheap to tip then." Shay's smirk is firmly in place as she leans over the bar in challenge. It's a true test of her willpower that Rafferty keeps her eyes locked on the blonde's, forcing herself not to glance down to what she's certain is a generous dip of cleavage. Shay's not the most well endowed woman in Chicago but she knows how to dress to her best advantage.

Whatever repartee Rafferty is expected to provide is thankfully nullified by the appearance of another customer who sidles up beside her, his eyes not bothering with the courtesy of going anywhere near Shay's face. The leer rankles Rafferty more than it should.

"Hey, pretty, 'nother round for us over there." He gestures vaguely to a booth in the corner, a trio of lumberjack looking clones. It's pretty early for him to be so drunk and a glance at Shay tell her she feels the same.

"How about a round of water first? Let some of that booze soak in," Shay advises, already scooping ice into a glass.

"I asked for whiskey, blondie," She sees Shay's lips purse, a sign she's well familiar, the blonde is fighting back a snappish retort. Not sarcastic, not mildly playful, Shay's gone from zero to pissed in two seconds flat. It's probably not the first time she's had to have this conversation with him.

"Listen, bud, I'm about two seconds away from cutting you off, settle down."

"No, you listen, you get that tight little ass back there and pour me..."

That's enough.

Rafferty shot out a leg, hooking it around his ankle, a trick she picked up from a no nonsense nurse during her psych rotation. Between his inebriation and the element of surprise, he doesn't stand a chance, ass hitting the ground, burly body sprawled across the hardwood floor.

"Pretty sure she asked you to settle down." Her calm tone, long practiced, hides her rather petty desire to kick him in the ribs while he's down there.

His gaze is drunken confusion mixed with a more than healthy dose of anger as he pushes himself to his feet. His glare is unmatched by the one she levels back at him, standing her he wants to attempt is cut short as Severide's grip tightens around his biceps, Peter Mills at his side as they escort him out. His muttered word of "dykes" earns him a righteous cuff as Kelly pushes him out the door, his table mates turning back to their drinks as the rest of 51 dares them to try something.

His word bites, more because he meant it as an insult than actual offence at his assumption. It's hard to defend her reaction as anything other than a stalwart defence of what Rafferty's coming to think of as her territory when the man thought to take liberties with Shay.

"Thanks, Kelly," Shay calls out over the din, motioning her back to the bar with a crook of her finger, grabbing her by the scarf to pull her closer. Shay leans over the bar, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. "And thank you. My hero."

The kiss is no more than Shay would have given Kelly or Dawson or any of the guys for coming to her rescue but she chooses to take it as a more personal thanks, distraught to realize that the sudden heat on her cheeks means she's blushing. Off all the asinine things.

It's a thought that continues to dig at her as she sits. Shay is true to her word, cutting her off after two drinks, silently switching her to all manner of virgin cocktails that end up more orange juice and soda than anything else. By nine Shay reminds her of her earlier declaration to be gone early and Rafferty thinks that such a calm night is a rarity and chooses to drag it out, despite what she knows will be a hellacious 48 hours if she lets herself go shy on sleep.

By ten, Peter Mills is tapping her on the shoulder -she's certain at Shay's behest- offering her a ride home. She's not really on his way but between Shay and Severide's natural protective natures, she knows she's getting an escort home, one way or the other.

"Night, Raff. Thanks for the company."

"It turns out you're not terrible to hang out with. Who knew?" Shay throws the bar towel at her, expertly caught by Peter Mills before soggy cotton can connect with her face. Peter leads her out of the bar and they pass Kelly, who's seated with a good chunk of Squad.

"You'll make sure she gets home all right?" Rafferty doesn't mean to make it sound as concerned as she does. Like she's actually worried. Shay knows the city, she's street smart, she doesn't need a babysitter. But neither does she and it feels nice, warm, even, to know Shay had put in effort to manage her safety. If Severide notices her sudden bout of caring, he is at least gentleman enough not to point it out as he nods, holding up what is now water in a pint glass.

"I got her covered."

~888~

"Hey! What are you doing here? 27 tired of your ass already or they just aren't as pretty as me?" Shay asks, sidling up to her as they make the walk up the long driveway to House 51.

"More like I got a call from Chief Boden that said you absolutely couldn't survive with out my skill and wit so I thought I'd grace you with my presence."

"Serious? You're filling in for Dawson today?"

"Yes ma'am." She's not surprised by the arm that is slung over her shoulder, pulling her against Shay's body. The woman is a rough housing bear hugger and it's second nature now to sling an arm around her waist, returning the affection. It had surprised her the first time, a hug for no reason other than a hug, no holiday, no goodbye, no emotional trauma, just Shay being Shay. It was the norm now. Even when she was at her grouchiest, moodiest, PMS height, Shay had hopped the bar and wrapped her up, neither of them minding the guys of 51 who no doubt chalked it up to girly bonding.

"You covering the whole shift or just while Dawson is out?" Shay asks as they make their way out to the rig, go bags in one hand, clipboards in the other.

"Why? You trying to get rid of me already? Here I thought our marriage was perfect." Her smile is meant to be a smirk but it's not. It's more flirtatious than she intended but she has no urge to call it back or throw the moment away with something acidic.

"I was actually looking forward to working with you but now I'm remember how glad I was to see the door hit that pretty little ass on your way out." Shay gives her a sharp swat to the rear in question before hauling herself into the rig to take inventory.

Such touching is second nature now, the way Rafferty assumes it was with Dawson. It warms her that she's come this far, that they've come this far together. Even if her left ass cheek is stinging.

Their occasional spats don't wander anywhere near the venomous terrain they used to. The last time Shay had cursed at her in exasperation, she hadn't even finished her sip of coffee before the blonde apologized.

They've settled into a pattern of easy friendship and though this is the first time they've worked together since her suspension, it's rare they don't see each other when their 48 overlap.

"If you're going to be like that, I won't show you what I brought you."

Shay's blonde head pokes out the back of the rig, curiosity mixed with suspicion. Rafferty digs into her go bag, producing a grease stained paper bag, the powdered sugar inside puffing up in a cloud of diabetes laden dust.

"Uh, what's that?"

"Depends. If you're nice to me, it might be your favourite from the deli by my place, but," she pulled the doughnut out from the bag, lifting it to her lips. "If you're going to be ass all day..."

"Rafferty, don't you eat my doughnut."

"Your doughnut? Nah, pretty sure it's mine." She expects the outraged squawk, she doesn't expect Shay to launch herself out of the rig, wrestling the sugary pastry from her fingers as she does her best to eat it, more out of spite than anything. It explodes in a puff of sugar and jelly, smeared across both of them. Shay, never one to surrender, plucks the remnants from her hand, shoving it gleefully into her mouth as she sprints for the doors.

"Leslie Elizabeth Shay, you get your scrawny ass back here!"

~888~

When notice hits of a marathon bomb, she thinks for a brief split second that it's a joke, a morbid, cruel joke. What kind of asshole bombs a run full of kids, in spitting distance of a hospital no less?

Hell breaks loose, dispatch coming over the wire to call out for every man on deck. She remembers Boston, no more than a year ago and how an entire nation, Chicago included, suffered and mourned with them. Assholes do bomb runs. It was only good luck that kept Rafferty from the Boston Marathon, her chosen race, given up for the year in favour of watching over her ailing fiance.

It's short work to the scene, two sets of eyes wide at the carnage. They're set up in minutes, a mobile triage facility moving with quick efficiency through the crowd. She sent the walking wounded onto a bus for overflow transport to County General. Those who couln't be moved were tagged and flagged for medics, the dead marked with a hastily, if reluctantly, scrawled 'x' across their forehead.

They're still looking for Dawson, the fear in Shay's eyes speaks of more than concern for a friend. Jealousy rises up at the realization, she wonders if Shay would look this panicked, this destitute if it was her beneath the rubble. It's a useless, petty thought that she forces back down. This is neither the time or place for whatever this is between them to bite her in the ass.

She's wading through chaos as she works the scene. Between the first bomb, confirmation of a second and rumour of a third, it doesn't feel as if anything or anywhere is safe. The bomb dogs are sweeping the area but it's a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to work with. Hell, the bomb could be in the hospital, waiting until it's packed to the nuts with victims, doctors and first responders before it detonates. Maximum impact.

She ignores that idea as she checks on Shay, her partner pale as she works. Rafferty can't blame her, she's walked by more severed limbs today than she would care to admit and her best friend is still missing. She does her best to prop Shay up, give her a pep talk to keep her focused before they have to split up again, her counterparts from 27 are having trouble controlling the scene.

When she's back outside, sans Shay, she takes over the scene from 27 PIC, finalizing orders to get the last of the living victims moved inside or down to County. It's surprisingly intense relief to see Severide crawling out of the shifting rubble, more so when he reaches back to haul Dawson from the depths, presumably it's Casey's hand pushing her up from below.

Rafferty, doesn't need to think about it anymore, just accepts it as fact that the first thing she wants to do with the first piece of good news in this shit bucket of a day, is call Shay. It takes a little effort to remind herself to stay professional over the open line, no more first names. The first call out to her partner garners only static, the second is more of the same. The third prompts a voice that is definitely not Shay to speak over her radio.

"Who is this?"

"This is Ambulance 61, PIC Rafferty. Who the hell is this, where's Shay?" For a brief, frightening moment she worries this man isn't friendly. What if it's a bomber taking a hostage? She thinks better of it. Anyone with a lick of sense would have bailed when the Chicago PD showed up. Voight ain't exactly known for his diplomacy.

The voice on the other end brings her back to herself and the panic returns, friendly or not, something is wrong if Shay isn't answering her own radio. It may not be terrorists but it definitely isn't good.

"I'm an officer with the CPD, your partner collapsed..."

"I need your location," she breaks in without letting him finish his sentence. Her feet are already moving as he gives his location, tossing out a "you're in charge" to the PIC from 27 division, he'll have to man up and handle it from here. "Shay's down," she hears herself call out to Severide as she passes him without a more than a side glance, climbing over still shifting rubble, using firefighters as pillars to pull herself up, heedless of proper protocol.

The hospital is overrun with noise. People screaming, doctors yelling out orders FBI and local police crawling over one another as she runs, overtaxed lungs burning as the weight of her gears holds her back.

She turns the corner to where she last left Shay, nearly sliding out on a pool of blood. She's held up by a mountain of a man, barely registering his presence as she takes in the blood on the floor. How much is there? Definitely more than a pint, maybe two. Too much for certain, considering it's all supposed to be in one person. Her person.

"You Rafferty?" It's a question she ignores, she's not important right now.

"Where's Shay?"

"They just put her on a gurney, they're taking her up to surgery." His eyes stray to the blood on the floor and her stomach turns in revolt. A blood soaked bandage lays tossed carelessly to the side, it's not easy to soak through a 6 by 6.

She doesn't wait for more from him, she knows where the surgical unit is, they'll have to take the elevator. She dodges the people she can, unapologetically shoulder checks those she can't, and sprints for the elevator bay, catching the gurney halfway there.

Shay is pale when she gets to her, unconscious on a gurney, surrounded by residents who look vaguely familiar. They might be the rotation after her. She pushes through the pair at Shay's side who are spending precious seconds debating the merits of some triviality while Shay bleeds out in front of them.

She takes the blonde's limp hand in her own, forcing down the memory of a year go, another failing body. She gets a glimpse of a gut wound as a resident peels off a badge contaminated by dirt and grime and replaces it with a sterile one. She wants to snap at the first year mistake, exposing the open wound in a germ infested area like this is a recipe for infection.

"Who's her doctor?" It's a question she throws out to the group who stare at her as if not quite believing she would question them. "Are you deaf? I said, who the hell is sewing up my partner?" The word 'partner' doesn't quite register as it leaves her mouth, even if it had, she wouldn't call it back. She hadn't meant it the way they seem to take it, eyes immediately filling with sympathy. She supposes the abject panic in her voice probably doesn't helps matters, nor that her hand hasn't left Shay's as they run the gurney to the elevator.

"That's me." She doesn't recognize him, taking in the cut of him as they move. There won't be room enough for her in the elevator that will take them to surgery and Shay will be in the O.R. before she makes it to the floor. All Rafferty has is now, fifteen seconds to decide whether she trusts a total stranger with the life of her best friend.

She feels a squeeze on her shoulder, briefly turning to one of her former classmates. "He's top in his rotation, if it were my husband, I'd trust him." She wants to snap that Shay's not her husband, not her fiancé. She's different, she has to be. She can't be expected to pick up the pieces of a life twice shattered.

The elevator is open now and the time to oppose is over. Shay's with this man now, for better or worse. She dips her head, placing a kiss to a grey forehead, hands tightening around limp fingers. "Don't go getting any ideas, y'hear? You come back to me."

'Us', she meant to say 'us', but as shay is rolled in to the elevator she realizes she doesn't care. Not about Severide , not about Dawson. All she can think of is the soul deep scar it'll leave if she loses the woman who picked her up out of the dirt, brushed off her knees and told her to get back in the game.

An impatient huff reminds her it's time to go and she reluctantly releases the elevator door. The door hasn't closed before she's up the first flight of stairs, hauling herself by the bannister, taking the steps two and three at a time.

She catches the tail end of Shay's gurney being wheeled into the OR, bluffing her way into the surgical theatre. Shay shouldn't be alone and if she couldn't be there to hold her hand, the least Rafferty could do is watch over her. She's going to see this through, whatever the outcome.

She mutters the words to herself, alone in the theatre, repeating them as a mantra, hoping that saying them aloud will make them true. "Not today. Not today. Not today..."


End file.
